


With the Soldier's Eyes

by Hrafnsmal



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alfie is 31, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blind Alfie, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Former Soldier Alfie, Former Soldier Tommy, Friends to Lovers, Gayness, M/M, Nightmares, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, Tommy is 29, Trauma, War Injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hrafnsmal/pseuds/Hrafnsmal
Summary: Having just left the army, Tommy Shelby is trying to regain control over his life. In order to do so, he goes to the place where his mother spent the last years of her life, wanting to be at peace with his family history and to have time to think things over. Trying to deal with his war trauma, he ends up in this little town of Northern England, where another war veteran has crashed some time ago. Tommy will find in Arkganbridge more than what he came looking for.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 16
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

He came out of the fog one day, charged of a heavy duffel bag and a backpack. The sound of his steps was muffled by the ambient silence and the dampness of the air. The town was cloaked in mist and silence, its stillness weighing like a leaden shroud on Tommy. He blinked some water out of his eyes, put back some strands of hair sticking to his forehead, considered the main street ahead of him. It was dead silent and he couldn't see the end of it, as the mist closed the horizon and blurred the shapes of the buildings around him. 

  


He could not even tell the time. The little town seemed out of it, lost in the fog and the Northern England. He checked his watch. The glass was obscured by condensed water. He held back a sigh, wrapped himself more tightly in his khaki jacket and resumed walking.

  


He was not even sure it was a good idea to be here. Honestly, these last times he had not been sure of much. He could have returned to home, to Birmingham, to his family. What remained of it, anyway. His brothers had left the military before he did. John because he had found some other job, steady and legal enough to guarantee regular income. Arthur because he was not fit for service anymore. Tommy had not seen them for a while, but he had had calls from his aunt. He had heard what she had told him about his brother, the fits of rage and terror. He walked faster, wanting to leave the thoughts behind. He didn't want to become like his brother, or to think he had already had. Out of question, no way. He had control. He had control.

  


He also had to admit that he needed time to fall back on his feet. He was feeling like a man who had just climbed his way out of a chasm and who collapsed on the verge of it, exhausted by his ascendance and his fear. Out of the maw, and not ready to get far from it, to definitive safety, for now. Unable to leave it behind, and not wanting to fall back in. Just staying where he had crumbled.

  


And so he had ended up here. Arkganbridge, where his gypsy mother had finally settled down for the last years of her life. He did not know exactly why he came, but he had thought maybe he would find out something. To close the loop, to end the journey and start a new of his own, for him and his family. Searching the past to leave it behind. What a contradiction. 

  


He was still walking the main road. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder, starting to hurt from the long way and the poor state of the strap. Threadbare, like his jacket, and the wet cold was piercing through it. He repressed a shiver, looking for some sign indicating a motel. An inn, maybe. The town did not look big enough to have a hotel. What he needed was a place to crash down, and a temporary job to make ends meet the time for him to finish his family business. Just some weeks, a couple months maybe, so he could have time to think. To calm down. 

  


He could stay on the edge of the chasm for some time. He needed to.

  


The yellow light amidst the ocean of grey fog caught his eye. Further on up the road was an open establishment. No sound came out of it. Would there have been any, it would have been muffled by the heavy air and the impending rain. Tommy hesitated. A drop of rain crashing next to the weary toe of his shoe decided him to get in. He hurried up, not wanting to get wet. He wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of encountering some people but with any luck the café would be desert and he could fall on his ass in a corner of the room with something to drink. 

  


He went in. It was small, with few round tables and a bar, behind which there was a woman. There was also an emergency exit next to what he assumed were the toilets, and some steps leading upstairs. Apart from him and the barmaid, there was no one. He threw a glance at her and took a few steps inside, setting his mind to one of the tables from where he could watch the two doors. He put down his bags, sat on the wooden chair and rubbed his hands together to get them warm. The temperature was good, some nice paintings hanging on the wall. A dead fish was staring at him from his frame, with a dying light in his painted eye. Tommy felt uncomfortable. He checked his watch nervously, still embued, tried to wipe the glass on his cargo pants, and jumped when the waitress spoke to him. He looked at her, his heart thumping in his ears, realized he had not understood anything she might have said.

  


« ...What ?

  


-I said, what will it be, sir ? » She smiled patiently. She had a earring with a silver bird on it, and he stared at it for a second before checking the door behind her. 

  


« I will let you some time to check the menu » she offered, poiting with her finger to a sheet of black paper on the table he hadn't noticed.

  


« The menu. »he said. « Sure. Yes. I will... » He nodded, avoiding her eyes, taking the thing in his hand. When he looked up again, she was gone. Back behind the counter.

  


Tommy looked at the list of drinks, licked his chapped lips unconsciously, looked at the waitress again. The emergency exit sign was faintly glowing green. He scratched one of his eyelids, took a deep breath and tried to focus on the list.

  


He was distracted when two other people came in, asked for a coffee and a beer and settled down at the counter, between him and the door. One of them, a middle-aged man, glanced in Tommy's direction, his gaze falling on the outfit and the military bags of the younger man. 

  


« Look, another soldier » he said to his companion with a quiet voice that Tommy heard easily in the quasi silence of the room. He wondered briefly if it was common for the likes of him to get into this town. Unlikely. There truly was nothing appealing here. But he needed a job and to know if he had any concurrence, so he breathed deeply and got up before walking towards the two men, who expectantly watched him getting closer.

  


He had this. He could do it. He had control.

  


« I'm looking for a job » he blurted out, his voice raw with unuse and his heart beating fast against his ribs. « I am... » He cleared his throat. « I am new in town. 

  


-Sure you are. » answered the man with the coffee. « What brings you here ? »

  


He pulled back one of the bar stools for Tommy who hesitated one second before sitting on it. He knew rumors traveled fast in little communities, he did not want the locals to think he was a weirdo. Which he definitely wasn't. He could have a normal conversation. With normal people. As if he were one of them.

  


« Family business » he said. « I won't stay long, just the time to clear some things out.

  


-As long as you are not here to create some trouble. » said the beer guy. 

  


« I'm not. » said Tommy, staring at him. « Why ? Did some of my comrades caused you some trouble ? » The last thing he wanted was to meet some dumb fuckers looking for a fight.

  


The coffee guy shrugged. 

  


« Not exactly. »

  


Tommy raised an eyebrow. 

  


« Some guy arrived a few months ago, dressed like you, with a dog. A war veteran, you know ? He stayed at Jenny's at the beginning.»

  


Tommy nodded.

  


« And then ? What did he do ? » he asked. 

  


« He bought a house at the edge of the town.

  


-Paid entirely in cash » added the other man, his eyebrows knitted together in a look of confusion.

  


Tommy resisted the urge to fiddle with something. The conversation was getting too long and nowhere. He was already uneasy before talking to the men.

  


« What does he do, does he work in town ? » he asked, wanting to get straight to the point. His tone must have betrayed him for the two men exchanged a look, a little bit surprised. 

  


« No, no. Just... Maybe he could have some work for you. He's living by himself in this old house and he is blind. » 

  


The beer man elbowed him.

  


« Don't tell him that, maybe he is some criminal or something. We don't even know how he got all that money.

  


-I'm just trying to help him, come on... What's your name ? » answered the coffee man, looking back to Tommy.

  


« … Tommy. » he said. He didn't feel comfortable with questions. Also, maybe they would treat him differently if they learned he was his mother's son. He got down of his stool, ready to leave. He could feel some sweat running down his back. He just wanted to escape those eyes and these strangers talking to him, in this absurd café where he could just ask for something to drink and have it. He turned on his heels, wanting to retrieve his bags, and almost bumped into the waitress. Feeling startled he went past her, picked up his bags, went for the door. He thought he heard her say something but didn't stopped, just wanting to get out. The handle of the door was cold and heavy, with a curved shape he hadn't noticed when he first came in. Next thing he knew he was walking down the main street again, seeking shelter under the edges of the rooves, dripping water but still it was better than being under the rain. His breath was forming little puffs of steam, quickly vanishing, reforming. His legs were tired. 

  


He remembered suddenly the two men had mentionned a place where he could possibly stay for a few days, at Jenny's. He cursed himself for not asking them when he was at the café. So much for being in control, Tommy. Should he knock at some door and ask for directions ? Or just wander at random in the town, looking for some indication. Why not. 

  


He kept on walking for some time before engaging in some narrow street, hoping it would lead him to the center of the village. He was passing by the bell tower when a little sign caught his eye, the paint all scaled up and the inscription unreadable. It was pointing towards an old massive house of stone, with several stories. There was light behind some windows. He stayed where he had stopped a few seconds then walked towards the building and knocked.

  


The door opened and dark eyes were staring at him from a crinkley face, two small gleaming dots under heavy eyelids. The old woman was raggedy, to say the least. And she reeked of indoors, of something musty. Thin strands of grey hair were escaping her outdated bonnet and she was looking straight at him with her unwavering black eyes.

  


« Hello » said Tommy. « Is it... Are you Jenny ? »

  


She nodded, unblinking.

  


« I'm looking for a room »he added. « I can pay. »

  


He felt some relief when she got out of the way so he could come in, even if he was feeling vaguely uneasy. She began to walk, bend, with small steps. She wasn't very small, but so crooked and shrunken Tommy thought she could collapse into a pile of rags devoid of body. 

  


He followed her, added it was just for some days, a week maybe. The old lady nodded, answered something in a tight and quiet voice he did not understand, then opened a door once they were arrived upstairs. He was putting down his bags when she spoke again.

  


« What's your business here, gypsy boy ? »

  


He turned back to look at her.

  


« What ? » He frowned. 

  


« It's a nice pair of eyes you got. » said Jenny, her head tilted on the side and her gaze fixed upon him.

  


« What do you mean ? » Tommy wasn't feeling particularly patient. Especially towards a stinky landlady. And even if he had never been one for superstitions and stupid beliefs, some things were starting to set him off with this lady.

  


« You look like her. The woman from the woods. She used to live in the little house at the end of Munin's Lane, before she died. We gave her a nice and proper burial, but there was no one. She once said she used to be married, so you know... I thought maybe someone would come. »

  


There was sadness in her voice. Tommy blinked, frowned and looked away, his hands in his pockets, his trouble vanishing as he realized they must have been friends.

  


« Don't count on my father to take care of anything. It's been years since I last saw him. 

  


-I bet you don't miss him much. »

  


He did not react, kept looking at her with what he hoped was an indecipherable stare. He did not need anyone to get close to him here. Did not want to, at least. She was still looking at him, maybe seeing the ghostly face of her passed away friend superposed to his. 

  


« Her house has been empty since » added Jenny. « No one buys houses here anymore. In twenty years there will be no one left. »

  


That wasn't entirely true, thought Tommy as he put his backpack on the small desk and remembered what he had heard at the café. He remained silent as he stocked his other bag near the bed and as the old woman told him she did not understand exactly why he had came here. That made the two of them, he thought.

  


« I just want to check out where she lived. »

  


Jenny was still staring at him.

  


« You will see much more of where she died. »

  


He shrugged, straightened his jacket and handed her damp money from his pocket. He left as soon as she gave him the keys.

  


  


What he had thought was the end of the rain was merely a lull and, as he made his way to Munin's Lane, it started pouring again. This time it was much more violent, hallebards falling from the lead-colored skies and lashing at whoever was absurd enough to be out by this weather. There had been rains like this where he had been, brief moments during when the stifling heat of the sand became a wet cold and he and his unit had to seek shelter in some ruins, stacked together to sleep when it wasn't their turn to keep watching, hidden under a soggy camouflage blanket and with the cold handle of their weapon pressed against their cheek for only company. When they were lucky enough to not have any other.

  


His heart began to beat loudly in his chest when the thunder rumbled far behind the hills, the echo rolling in the creases of the landscape, in the narrow streets, between the fronts of the little houses and the walls of his skull. He closed his eyes, put his back against the nearest wall and took deep breaths, his hand clenched in the fabric of his jacket on his chest. It was just noise. He could do it. 

  


He threw himself into the bar as soon as he saw it. The thunder was getting closer and he didn't want to be outside when the lightnings would start. 

  


No hotel but two bars in this town, he mused as he made a beeline to an isolated bar stool. All the tables were already taken, by small groups of people Tommy did not spend a long time looking at. He thought he recognized one of the men from the café. Once seated, he stared at the glass panel of the window, loudly hit by the neverending rain in an ininterrupted tapping. He put his hands on the counter, crossing his fingers and trying to ignore the weights of the gazes he drew. The sooner he could get a new jacket the better. 

  


The barman went towards him. Between forty and fifty, he had deep creases and lines on his face, and eyes the same steely color than his hair. He wore a clean white apron in the pocket of which he slid a rag while leaning in Tommy's direction.

  


« A coffee, please » said the latter, not wanting to be caught off guard like the last time. 

  


The man looked at him while getting his drink ready. 

  


« So you're the new guy. »

  


Tommy did the same, wondering if he was asking a question or not. Apparently, his guess was right ; news did travel fast here. Surely thank to the café guy. 

  


« I guess I am, yes.

  


-And you're looking for some work. »

  


Questions disguised as affirmations, then. Fine.He didn't bother to open his mouth this time, just looking at the barman and nodding imperceptibly. 

  


At this moment a cold wind swept trough the room as the door opened. Tommy furrowed his brow, throwing a glance above his shoulder to see the newcomer.

  


He wasn't very tall, wrapped in a long black coat dripping of water, just like the brim of his black hat. Black too were his oval glasses, with a golden frame, perched upon a triangular nose of which water was trickling too, drops of rain rolling into his beard and the sloppy opening of his shirt. If Tommy kept staring, it was not because of the broad shoulders -not that he hadn't noticed- but because of the enormous mastiff who was by the man's side (and seemed ready to shake himself at any moment and to sprinkle water everywhere) and because of the white cane of the stranger. So he was the man with the dog the locals had evoked earlier. 

  


« Now come on, Cyril, get on with it »he said with a nasal voice, and waited as the dog shook the rain off his fur. Then he went for the counter, found a stool that he pulled with heavily ringed fingers and sat before shrugging off his coat. He had, for whatever reason, a second black coat beneath, slightly shorter than the first. The dog set down by the feet of the stool, lying on his belly and drooling on the floor. 

  


Tommy cast a critical glance to the man, who was sitting all hunched up in his chair. No way this guy had been in the military with that stance. But apparently he had. Why would Tommy care anyway ? If the man had a house that needed renovation, then maybe Tommy would speak to him, see if he could pay him. 

  


When the coffee pot was full, the barman went to deposit a cup in front of the still soggy man and put two sugars next to the spoon. He earned a grumbled thank you, then glanced at the wet hat placed on the counter but didn't say anything. The stranger's hair was of a brown that wet appeared dark, with short strands sticking out in every direction. Tommy noticed that up close his beard wasn't that well kempt.

  


The barman then went to the end of the counter Tommy was on and noticed his glances.

  


« So, stranger »he said while pouring coffee, « you just met our local wandering Jew. »

  


Tommy raised an eyebrow, not understanding the apparent fondness of these villagers for pointing out which minority people belonged to. 

  


« So he has a house in need of renovation » he said, adopting the local way to ask questions without really doing it. When the barman nodded, Tommy looked at the man who was stirring the sugar in his cup of coffee doing far too much noise with his spoon. He added :

  


« Then I'm in need of a name. »


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by the best LeEcrivainTrèsMaudit

Accosting Alfie Solomons was easier said than done. Tommy did not do it at the bar. There was too much noise and he felt anxious about having a conversation where he could miss some parts. So he stayed on his stool, stiffly seated and waiting for the rain to end. The glass panel of the window was still going tap-tap-tap and he kept his gaze fixed upon the wooden counter, trying to ignore his surroundings. He knew people were staring and, as much as he wanted to not give a fuck about it, he was feeling constricted by the drying fabric of his jacket and their presence. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  


  


He was mad at himself for doing it. He had decided he was in control, he had decided to stay indifferent. Yet his mind was betraying him, trying to bring him back to places he didn't even want to think of, to make him see old faces that wouldn't be familiar ever again. He had no other options than to give up to his memories and end up on the floor or to focus on where he currently was and to be overwhelmed.  


  


The dog was looking at him from under the stool, his ridiculously short tail waggling as his folded chops were parted, saliva all over them. He stayed where he was, of course, blinking slowly and drooling slightly on his enormous paws, which had rough black pads and soft beige fur between them.  


  


Tommy found himself staring as he suddenly felt anchored.  
  
The feeling vanished when he noticed the black eyes of the dog, half-hidden by heavy eyelids, gleaming from under it. Just like Jenny's. 

  


Then he was in the street again. He looked at the sky, his clothes sogged, his hair in his eyes. It was getting worse, everything was worse. God, he couldn't even remember for how long he had been there. Ten minutes ? More ? He quickly made his way back to the stone house, hoping he would not encounter his friendly but uncanny landlady. He felt safer once in his room, the door locked behind him. He wished the rain would end, he wished the windows became quiet again. He took his head between his hands, realized he was seated on the floor, his breath ragged. He remained motionless until he finally felt the cold of his damp clothes against his skin. He got up. The searing pain in his right shoulder had stopped.  


  


He got rid of his clothes, left them on the floor, went to the bathroom which, surprisingly, had a bathtub. He remembered the therapist telling him to relax, to fall back into civil life habits such as long warm showers, mixed up with memories of his mother authorizing him to have a hot bath if he had been caught in the rain. There wasn't much money back then, but some hot water was cheaper than the doctor.  


  


Tommy went back to the bedroom, struggled with his numb fingers to open his backpack, produced a little box then returned to the bathroom. He put down the box on a chair, in arm reach. Then he opened the robinet of the tub, clenching his jaw as the burning water touched his frozen feet. He wasn't quite feeling the warmth yet, and it produced a weird sensation, as if thousands of minuscule needles were prickling at his skin. He sat down in the tub, waiting for the feeling to disappear.  
  
  
He felt slightly better once immersed in hot water, his heels resting on the sides of the tub. The steam was rising, hot and damp, his blood pulsing quickly through his veins. He squinted through the blur, looking at the sink, where there was no toothbrush. No razors.  


  


****

****

He pressed his hands against his eyes, breathed deeply and quietly. His heart was still beating too fast. He looked at the box, resting innocently on the chair. He reached out for it, opened it carefully. Inside laid a lighter, some paper and a little satchet of weed. He rolled himself a joint, lit it and took a long puff before blowing the smoke away. Then he closed the box and put it back on the chair. Closed his eyes too. Kept on smoking. He was feeling better, his muscles relaxing and a cottony sensation padding the insides of his skull. His arms rested on the sides of the tub, his whole body gone soft as he slowly elevated from his previous thoughts to a higher plane. When he got out of his bath he didn't notice the claw feet of the tub.

  


He went out the next day after a short night of heavy, compact, undisturbed sleep. He had put on fresh clothes, and he was feeling better for it, even if his rangers still were a bit wet. The sky was a beady grey, but the rain had finally stopped. He figured it wouldn't be long before it came back, but still, it was a good time to search Alfie Solomons' house and to propose him his services. If he refused, well... There surely was plenty of handywork to be done around here.  


  


Tommy walked to the edge of town. His steps were slightly resonating upon the macadam of the road and he looked at the landscape while walking. The horizon was clearer than the previous day and he could see the woods and the fields surrounding the town. There were low walls of stone between the fields, and little paths rejoining places Tommy couldn't see. He stopped on the sideroad to stare at the woods. Jenny had mentioned his mother coming from there. But even during day, it appeared shadowy, dense. Was he imagining the darkness between the tree trunks ? It was like a somber spot in the whole landscape.  


  


He remained there a few minutes, hands in his pockets and hair ruffled by the wind. Then he resumed walking. First, he would deal with the Munin's Lane house. Then, he could go into the woods.  


  


He strided the periphery of the town for some time, searching an habitated old house. If he was lucky enough, maybe Alfie would be on his porch or in his frontyard and it would be easier. Maybe the dog would bark, indicating the right house.  


  


Of course he couldn't be that lucky. The few houses Tommy had seen had seemed empty, their fronts covered in tatty paint and their blind windows staring at him, doors condemned. All yards had answered to the call of the wild. He decided to go back downtown in order to get a clear information.  


  


On his way, he went across three old ladies seated on a bench, bags full of wild salads and herbs at their feet. He nodded when he accidentally made eye contact with one of them then forced himself to walk steadily as he went past them. His nape itched as he kept on advancing.  


  


He knew he was being paranoid. A good night of sleep had cleared his mind and he knew his uneasiness was only in his head. For all that it didn't go away, and he buried his hands deeper in his pockets as he made his way downtown, shoulders squared.  


  


He was passing by the post office, aiming for the city hall when he saw the man with the dog . He was turning his back on the post office, motionless on the sidewalk as if he had just gotten out of the building. Of course the dog was with him.  
  
  
  
Tommy went closer. He noticed Alfie had an envelope in his hand. He wondered briefly about the point of getting letters when one was blind then stopped. It wasn't his fucking business. He watched him put the enveloppe in one of the pockets of his coat.  


  


The dog made a noise as he got closer. Not a threatening one. You didn't need to threaten when you had jaws that could tear the arm of a man off. The red really stood out against the sand. He quickly dismissed the thought.  
  
« Hello » said Tommy while looking at Alfie and stopping at a certain distance.  
  
« Hello, mate » the other man said, voice thick with London accent. He had his hands crossed on the handle of his cane, his face tilted towards Tommy as if looking in his direction, just like he had inclined his head towards the letter while he had it in his hand.  


  


Tommy opened his mouth, wondering what to say first.  
  
« Well it's a good day, right ? » said the other man before him. « A beautiful day to, you know, fuck off if you don't have anything to say to me. » He nodded for himself, eyebrows up and clearly visible above the frame of his glasses.  
  
« I have a proposition » answered Tommy. « I'm new in town and I need some work.  
  
-Yeah ? »  
  
Tommy nodded out of reflex then mentally slapped himself. Fuck, he would have to talk with this one. And long cold blue stares were useless.  
  
« I heard your house could use some renovation. I can help if you pay me. For that or any other job I could do.  
  
-So you do have a proposition ! Wonderful, mate, yeah... yeah... » His voice was getting up and down, alternatively low and high, disappearing into a barely perceptible noise at the end. He scratched his beard, apparently considering. Tommy noticed the pink line on his jaw where hairs didn't grow anymore.  
  
« Let us get at my place and we can talk about that there. » He made a gesture with his hand towards an imprecise direction. « I don't discuss work on the sidewalk. »  
  
Alfie made a clicking noise with the side of his mouth and the dog got up immediately before following him. Tommy did just the same. He noticed the other man seemed to know exactly where he was going, cane slightly tapping the floor in front of him. He caught up with him and they took the road towards the periphery.  
  
Tommy looked at the dog who was walking by Alfie's side, sometimes pushing his wet nose against the man's hand. Tommy motioned towards him.  
  
« Is he some kind of service dog ?  
  
-Cyril ? God, no. Wasn't really made for that, you know, kept catching the canes and rolling over people when they fell during the tests. He's a good lad, though. »  
  
He seemed the type of guy to break your kneecaps would you hurt his dog, thought Tommy.  
  
« What about you, mate ? You did things you were made for ? »  
  
Tommy looked up, surprised.  
  
« Well, not exactly, no. I always thought I would work with horses and... I wouldn't be here if I was.  
  
-Mmmmh » said his new acquaintance. « Maybe I will be glad you decided to get lost in here rather than to take care of some horsies. »  
  
Tommy raised an eyebrow.  
  
« I did not... really decided to be here with no job.  
  
-Then what do you do in this very, very nice little town ?  
  
-Looking for a job right now » answered Tommy, feeling vaguely suspicious.  
  
« Too bad there are no horses here then » said Alfie with a thoughtful tone.  
  
Tommy briefly closed his eyes, didn't answer and looked at the house they were approaching. From a distance, he couldn't have guessed someone lived in here. Once they were at the gate, he saw some things indicating the contrary. There was a chair under the porch, the door looked more recent than the rest of the house and the lane between the house and the gate was cleared of the grass and long stems that proliferated everywhere else.  
  
He stayed back as Alfie fumbled with his keys and opened the door before telling Tommy to get in. He entered the house, which wasn't immersed in penumbra as he had imagined. The glass of the windows wasn't really clean but light filtered through it more than enough for him to see.  
  
« What do you drink, mate ? I have some tea, I have some whiskey... I have a lot of things.  
  
-Tea is fine, thank you » said Tommy as he followed Alfie into the kitchen. The latter got rid of his coats and hat before busying himself with the kettle. Tommy did not propose to help him. Instead, he examined the room.  
  
Rays of lights were falling through the window, cutting black and golden shapes across the kitchen. There were two dark openings of doors which apparently led to the living room and a corridor. A few personal items were scattered in the room, some thick books in braille, others in common writing. He spotted one in Russian, another in Hebrew. How many different alphabets did Alfie know ? Tommy looked again at the printed books. Surely remains of the previous life of the man who was turning his back on him and putting the boiling water in the teapot with careful moves. Tommy was surprised of his lack of defiance. Being blind and a former soldier, Tommy wouldn't have been surprised if Alfie hadn't let him close at less than two meters. Maybe it was just what himself would have done.  
  
« You are pretty trustful with someone whom you don't even know the name » said Tommy, his hands still in his pockets and turning towards Alfie.  
  
Still presenting his back to him, the man let out a weird noise between a laugh and a throat clearing. The light outlined the hair on his head and the shape of his ears.  
  
He then put two cups of tea on the table and took a sit, motioning for Tommy to do the same. There was a golden ray falling on his arm and it felt warm.  
  
« So, mate »Alfie said. He seemed to be smiling, even though it was hard to tell between the whiskers hiding his upper lip and the glasses concealing his eyes.  
  
« Now you owe me two drinks. »  
  
Tommy stared at him without touching his cup yet.  
  
« What ?  
  
\- Well you bursted out of that bar last time without paying for your coffee, did you ? And I figured I could pay it for you, to save you some trouble. It was only fair since apparently it was my dog who set you off.»  
  
Tommy kept staring at him, silent, his words suspended. Like the tiny particles in the light, before they fell and disappeared in the dark.  
  
« It's okay, it's fine » added Alfie, waggling his fingers, rings clicking. « You never know when that kind of stuff happens, yeah ? »  
  
Tommy blinked.  
  
Alfie tilted his head, forehead crinkling while he waited for an answer, in a manner that wasn't without resembling his mastiff. The silence stretched a few seconds. Suddenly Alfie clasped his hands and leaned towards Tommy, raising a scarred eyebrow. He already knew anyway.  
  
« So, Tommy mate, tell me... Do you like garden hoses ? »  
  
He stared at the man who was quite close now. He could discern, through the darkly tainted glass of his binoculars, the shape of open eyes.  
  
« What do you expect me to do ? »  
  
Alfie sit back, made a gesture with his hands towards the general direction of the table.  
  
« You could drink your tea before it gets cold. Then, we could come to an arrangement that would highly benefit the both of us.  
  
\- Garden hoses ? » said Tommy, pinching his lips and raising an eyebrow.  
  
« To begin with ! If you don't mind must and mold, goes without saying, yeah. You see, I have a fuckton of old furnitures that need to be dealt with, one way or another, so we could, you know, take it out, cleanse it and see what's good and what is fucking trash. I pay you six pounds an hour, and if you want to sell some of the bad bad ones at some... » He waved his hand. « … flea market, or whatever, we share the profits.  
  
-Eight pounds » answered Tommy without missing a beat.  
  
« Seven.  
  
-Then I don't owe you the coffee anymore.  
  
-Deal. »  
  
Alfie extended his hand for Tommy to shake. It was warm, except for the rings, an angular cold pressed against his hand. The pads of Alfie's fingers were softer than Tommy expected. The handshake was firm. Then Tommy took his cup in his hand, sipping while Alfie got up to put some water in Cyril's bowl, crouching near the sink.  
  
« He wouldn't be that thirsty if he wasn't drooling all over the place all the fucking time, yeah, but he cannot control that. »  
  
He got up, swiping his wet hands on his black trousers.  
  
« And you can't be mad at people for things they don't control, can you ? There are just some things you do that you can't control. »  
  
Tommy looked at him, his cup stopped a few inches from his face.  
  
« ...Not sure he would want to stop though, even if he could... As if he were enjoying ruining my pants, do you believe that ? »  
  
Tommy breathed through his nose, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, then put down his cup.  
  
« Are you currently trying to communicate with me by infrasounds, Tommy ? Because if that's the case, we will have a serious, serious problem.  
  
-I'll talk if it's needed. Don't worry. » Tommy finished his cup, set it down on the table.  
  
« Do you know there is a whale in the ocean that is nicknamed « the loneliest whale in the world » ? Because she sings on a different frequence and no other whale understands her.  
  
-She must indeed feel lonely.  
  
-Yeah.  
  
-You read that in some book ?  
  
-I will let you know I have a phone with the Internet, mate. »  
  
Tommy seized the occasion.  
  
« Maybe you should give me your number. So we could warn each other if there is a mishap.  
  
-Sure thing. »  
  
Alfie dictated him a series of numbers that Tommy entered in his own phone.  
  
« If you have to talk to me, just call, yeah ? No texts. I hate the fucking synthetic voice. »  
  
Tommy assured him that he would then walked back to the door with him. They decided he would come back the next day since he was starting to need the money then Tommy took his leave. He made his way back to the village, planning to stop somewhere to get something to eat. At least he had one less thing to worry about.  
  
The best thing was that the conversation had left him feeling quite good, even if he hadn't participated that much. He couldn't remember when was the last time he had had a conversation without him wanting to get away as fast as possible or to lash out in frustration.  
  
He briefly wondered about which front Alfie had been on, and how exactly he had lost his sight. It was odd. He had thought getting away from everything and everyone that remembered him of the war would help him getting past it, leaving it behind. And here he was. Out of dozens of people he could have talked to and got work from, he had chosen a fucking war veteran.  
He thought of the way his hand had felt against his, of the golden glint on his glasses frame and in his beard when the light passed through it. He had used his name, only to talk with him, and not to him with a concerned tone, or in a shriek amidst the mayhem of shrapnels and shards of rocks flying everywhere. He had used his name.  
  
A name that Tommy never told him, he realized.

He came back the following day. The afternoon sun was shining and Tommy did not bother to take his jacket. On his way he thought maybe he should have ; the English weather was a capricious one. Still he enjoyed the fresh wind that gave him goosebumps and agitated the branches of the trees. He breathed deeply ; the air was devoid of smoke and smelling of warmth. The open landscape around him seemed peaceful and desert, quiet save from the noise of the wind and some magpies not far.  
He ended up on Alfie doorstairs, knocked. He waited a few seconds.  
  
Something wet touched his hand from behind and he startled, spun back. It was only Cyril, who had taken a few steps back at Tommy's reaction.  
  
He breathed, then crouched to scratch the dog's head.  
  
« Hello Cyril. »  
  
The dog waggled his stump of a tail then left, taking the narrow path on the side of the house which surely led to the back. Tommy glanced at the closed door then followed him.  
  
At the back of the house was a wooden terrace, with a small metallic table and two garden chairs. The pale wall was half covered by Virginia creeper, the shutters closed. There was a balcony on the first floor, with a railing in wrought iron with intricated patterns. It was rusty but clean. The garden looked more like a fairy tale forest, cluttered with all kind of wild plants and brambles, wiry, thorny stems intertwined with the other branches.  
  
The dog was nowhere to be seen.  
  
« Tommy, is that you mate ? »  
  
Tommy turned back once again.  
  
Alfie was appearing at the backdoor, in his shirt sleeves, the mastiff by his side. Tommy never had a dog but at this moment he understood the interest of such a relationship.  
  
« I'm here » he answered, indicating his position.  
  
« Good. Then come in, and we can start. »

  


Tommy spent the next two hours carrying massive furniture out of the house and onto the terrace, moving the heavy shelves and dressers with grunts of effort. The upper stairs were more obscure than the ground floor, shutters closed in all the rooms Alfie didn't use, and even in some he did. And of course the switches that didn't work had not been fixed. Tommy noticed the carpet of the floor had been removed and stocked in a corner of the second floor corridor. Surely to make every noise more perceptible. There were other things which he did not quite understand, such as the accumulation of objects which were not of origin. Why would Alfie accumulate things such as paintings or old books ?  
  
The latter stuck with him, giving him some instructions and identifying the furnitures with his hands before telling Tommy to bring it downstairs. Some of them were so ugly or mouldy that Alfie told Tommy to throw them by the first floor window that was open. He helped him lifting one heavy trunk then waited for the noise of the crash while Tommy observed the chest burst and crack at the impact in a cloud of dust and molded wood.  
  
His arms and shoulders were soon aching but at least his mind was focused on the task, one furniture after another and he relished in it. It was simple, it got things done, it was useful. It was all he was asking for for now. Plus, he had a running commentary as sonore background, witty and pretty violent, punctuated of what the fucks and allusions to some books or Russian movies.  
  
« You Russian ? » Tommy ended up asking while catching his breath after climbing back the stairs for the hundredth time and leaning against the next -and last- stack of shelves, a gigantic piece of heavy dark wood.  
  
« I'm of English nationality, mate, but back then, some of my ancestors came from Russia to this green little island, yeah, fleeing the burned villages and hangings and forks, you know. Some places are worse than others to be a Jew.  
  
-... I guess. » Tommy was breathing more regularly. Before he thought about it he added :  
  
« Some of my ancestors were gypsies. So was my mom. And hence me I suppose. »  
  
Alfie snorted, cheeks coming up against his glasses as he smiled.  
  
« So you're gonna rob me and go back into your caravane. »  
  
Tommy raised his eyebrows.  
  
« Sure, since you must be secretly insanely rich with hidden diamonds the size of my fist. »  
  
They sneered and Alfie sat on some cabinet before crossing his legs, his ankle resting on his knee.  
  
« Sorry, mate, no diamonds or violins here.  
  
-Well I hope for you that you have some money to pay me with » smiled Tommy.  
  
« It's in our mutual interest, mate. Or else I could beat you to a pulp with my cane, put you in the charming piece of furniture you so kindly brought downstairs and get rid of your broken body in some God forsaken hole tonight. »  
  
Tommy let out a short laugh before stopping, troubled. He looked at Alfie, brow furrowed in a distressed expression, his face escaping his control.  
  
« I think you and I have seen enough bodies already. »  
  
Alfie kept his own face motionless, then nodded briefly. A silence settled down. Then the man sitting smiled meanly, speaking to the other with a playful tone.  
  
« Well, I wouldn't see yours at least. »  
  
Tommy puffed through his nose, staying pressed against the shelves. The dust falling out was sticking to the sweat of his forearms. He held back a sigh, looked at a tiny scar visible between Alfie's eyebrow and the frame of his glasses.  
  
« That's why you left the army » said Tommy.  
  
« Don't we have a genius here » answered the other man bitterly. He drummed furiously on the cabinet with his fingers, then tilted his head.  
  
« And you ? Why did you ? »  
  
Tommy hesitated on his answer.  
  
« It was the end of the war.  
  
-Only the dead see the end of the war, mate. »  
  
Tommy clenched his jaw and breathed quietly.  
  
« I just couldn't do it any longer. It wasn't even my choice to enlist. I had to, because we had no fucking money, and I needed a fucking job that would get me paid, alright ? »  
  
Alfie nodded in silence, as if letting an opportunity for Tommy to develop. Tommy considered the window he had. A direct opening to an occasion : to speak about what happened without feeling estranged. And his interlocutor would not look at him with pitying eyes.  
  
Tommy had the feeling Alfie wouldn't even if he could actually see him. He seemed too angry for that.  
  
But he put his hands in his pockets and stopped leaning onto the shelves. The sweat had dried on his skin and the moment had passed. He didn't even know why he had purposefully missed his shot. Instead he gestured towards the heavy stack of shelves.  
  
« Are you gonna help me with this one ? Can't move it on my own.  
  
-Sure mate. »  
  
Alfie got up and together they managed to incline and lift the thing. Then Tommy took the lead and gave enough indications so that they wouldn't bang anything with the wardrobe. Fortunately Alfie knew the place well enough to not hit or stumble upon anything.  
  
Once they were arrived at the terrace they put down the wardrobe, panting heavily. Tommy swiped the sweat off his brow.  
  
« Is this the part with garden hoses ? »  
  
Alfie let out a noise meant to be a laugh and sounding more like a bark.  
  
« For you, yeah. »  
  
He remained motionless while Tommy went to retrieve the hose and open the tap at the base of it.  
  
« Yeah, right. The moment I met you I thought « Alfie, this is a man who knows garden hoses are good for the soul. You totally should hire him so he could make you participate in his fucking task... »  
  
He interrupted abruptly, coughed brutally against the back of his hand during enough time Tommy ceased what he was doing. He remained silent, just stared as Alfie sat on one of the garden chairs, Cyril springing out of nowhere to lean heavily against his leg. Then it stopped.  
  
Tommy resumed to set the hose, unrolling it and coming onto the terrace.  
  
« We can scrub everything out tomorrow » said Alfie. « For now just, you know, clean it with the water. »  
  
He busied himself searching and rummaging through the drawers while Tommy projected water on the furniture that wasn't made of wood, sometimes glancing at Alfie when he extracted little items that he held in his palm while examining it with his thumb, or old papers that he stacked neatly on the table.  
  
Once most of the mold had been washed away, Tommy cut the water and went towards the other man who was cleaning with a rag that once was a handkerchief a tiny object. Others were scattered on the table.  
  
« Look » said Alfie, handing him what appeared to be a metallic paperweight shaped with some finesse as a horse.  
  
« It's a horse » said Tommy with an unimpressed look.  
  
« Quite pretty, innit ? »  
  
He was still handing him the thing, shaking it a little with insistance. Tommy took it, turned it between his fingers. It was heavy for its size. Maybe made of lead, and of a dark color. Quite pretty indeed. It would look good on a desk.  
  
He handed it back to Alfie out of reflex before putting it on the table when the man made no move to take it back. He got up on his feet when he heard the metallic noise and went inside with angry footsteps. Tommy stayed where he was standing, then heard the kettle and the rattling of crockery being taken out of lockers, with muttered words he didn't clearly hear. Apparently Alfie was talking to himself since Cyril was lying on his side on the terrace, tired of trying to catch the water from the hose between his teeth for a good part of the cleaning session.  
  
Tommy sat on the other chair, his back straight as usual. It wasn't long before Alfie came back with two cups of steaming tea, testing the ground in front of him with his foot. Then they were seated face to face in the quiet atmosphere of the end of the afternoon. The sun was getting lower and some birds were singing lazily somewhere in the trees.  
  
Tommy put his hands around the hot cup, enjoying the warmth of it and the tiredness in his muscles. The silence felt good. So he was surprised when he heard himself saying :  
  
« I got shot. In the shoulder, during a messed up operation. »  
  
Alfie didn't say anything, his face oriented in Tommy's direction. The latter was staring into the void, somewhere between his cup and the table. The colors of the almost setting sun and the pain in his arms could not entirely keep him grounded and the memories of the abandoned corridor at bay. The corridor, the passage in the ruins when they had stumbled upon an enemy unit, with its grey oppressive concrete, all ways out difficult to reach because of the number of people in the room and the narrowness of it all. There were loud bangs, clatter which resonated in the ruins and the dry staccato of an automatic weapon. There was blood splattered on blonde hair. Dust and sand in the air.  
  
« One of my comrades, she... took a bullet that would have surely killed me. » Tommy swallowed his saliva, burned himself with the tea trying to get some into his dry throat. He put the cup down with slightly shaky hands he tried to still by gripping his knees with. He was grateful Alfie stayed silent for once. There was no good answer anyway, nothing he could say that wouldn't sound futile and useless. Tommy looked up.  
  
The other soldier had his head inclined towards the table, eyebrows drawn together in a weird expression of both focus and resignation, as if he had been prepared to hear some variation of the story they went through, thought Tommy. As if he had lived his own variation of that story, seen all of it until he couldn't.  
  
It was a story of humanity. Wild animals didn't stomp onto other animals heads until their skull cracked open, didn't cut them in half with machinery designed to do so, didn't follow orders every part of their instinct was screaming against. And now there was nothing to say, nothing to do but to behold the gigantic waste with their crippled minds, their memory like minefields. Horrors carved into the bony walls of their skulls, hands forever sticky with black, brown, red fluids, wanting the remains of their souls to flee from guilty bodies curling on themselves once come the dark, or even during day, tensed up and sweaty and losing their balance at any time, falling one side or the other of the thin line they were walking above a chasm full of clawing darkness and shards of bones.  
  
They remained silent, facing each other as the sun set down and the shadows surrounded them, two human silhouettes in the dark.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a suspicion about the identity of Tommy's dead comrade, you are probably right.


	3. Chapter 3

« And this, Tommy my friend, is the famous altar where all kind of no-gooders and scoundrels gather on a regular basis to watch with a thousand eyes and plot some kind of impending demise for those who don't please 'em. »  
  
Tommy looked at the bench where were usually sitting three old women to watch the passers-by.  
  
« It's a bench, Alfie. And there is no one on it.  
  
-Lucky us, aren't we ? Now hurry, or it will be dark before you know it. »  
  
They were walking down the nearly empty streets of the village since the early afternoon, on a proposition from Alfie to show Tommy around, and the latter was almost beginning to regret it. Apparently Alfie had thought that Tommy would find out about the important places by himself and instead focused on making them wander, apparently at random, through the little town.  
  
Tommy slowed down as they were crossing the church, remembering the masses his aunt brought him to alongside his brothers and sister. He had last called her a few weeks ago, and she surely was worried to death if she hadn't given up on him already. Well, he wasn't going to enter the church only because it made him think about her. There was no point in it. If aunt Polly hadn't given up on him, God undoubtedly had.  
  
He looked at the small cemetary adjoining the church, all green grass and little tumulus surmounted with mossy tombstones and crosses, some of them very recent. No young men and women lying underneath those.  
  
He realized he had stopped and Alfie was waiting for him a few feet away.  
  
« Charming building, innit ? Full of benevolent people, searching God for themselves and filling the organ with their despair until it pours from it every Sunday. Just because they're old, lonely and their parents are dead.  
  
-You didn't search for God when your parents died ? » asked Tommy, coming closer. He wasn't even sure Alfie's parents were dead, but it was likely given the current situation of the man. Or maybe he was in bad terms with them. Or maybe he didn't know who or where they were. Or maybe Tommy was just projecting. He wasn't sure.  
  
« God was always with me, Tommy, don't you know ? But he doesn't give great advices all the time, that's why it's good you are now deaf to his words. »  
  
Tommy looked at Alfie, then put his hands in his pockets and turned his face towards the little church.  
  
« Actually, I've never heard him in my whole life. »  
  
In response, Alfie made again that noise that was half a laugh, as if sneering at an inside joke. It was irritating. And Tommy absolutely did not notice the way he was biting his bottom lip with crooked teeth when he made it. He felt guilty to stare, suddenly.  
  
« Let us go, Tommy, the church will still be here tomorrow » said Alfie, resuming walking.  
  
« -Like the whole village.  
  
-Really ? »  
  
Tommy didn't bother to roll his eyes and walked alongside the other man, the dog following them quiet as usual.  
  
Tommy was still surprised to be here, doing that. He had come with one objective and very resolved, or resigned, to be alone for the whole period of his stay. And he had said more to Alfie, a near stranger, in a few days than he had talked at all during the past few months. Their conversations replayed in his mind as he walked, taking the place usually ever-occupied with things he didn't want to think about at the moment.  
  
« The first time we met... You called me by my name. I had never said it to you » he said, realizing.  
  
« Yeah, well, I guessed it with my prescient abilities » answered Alfie, dead serious.  
  
« Fuck off. Who told it to you ?  
  
-Aah, you see, Tommy.» Alfie was now smiling frankly, his brow shadowed by his hat. «That's the point, innit ? Nothing here is magic, mate, it is all in your head. »  
  
Tommy stared at him for a moment, his thoughts brought back to pairs of black eyes.  
  
« No, really, there is nothing magical about that place » added Alfie on a pensive tone, scratching his beard, as if the question was worth considering.  
  
They were now near the entrance of the village, on the road, ditches on both sides. The five o'clock sun was warm on them, shadows starting to elongate just a bit. From where they were Tommy could see the horizon and he knew if he looked in the other direction he would make out the sea, a few miles away from the town. They stood silently for some time, Alfie's coat eddying black in the wind and touching Tommy's leg from time to time.  
  
« Yes... It will be a good spot » finally said Alfie before nodding.  
  
Tommy did not ask a good spot for what. He did not want to talk and was quite used by now to Alfie telling apparent nonsense, always navigating the cryptic leys of his own mind that Tommy pictured as a map of which only Alfie could see the lines. He would tell him if it was important.

  


They went back to the village in silence, the tapping of Alfie's cane before them and Cyril's huffing after. The wind was still blowing and Tommy looked at the rooves and the belltower, their slates slightly glinting under the sun. It was smelling like spring and wet grass after the rain. He was feeling... not quite peaceful, but not far, he realized, his back warmed by the sun. It had been some time since he had last just walked with someone he was sure to see again the day after.  
  
They had settled into a sort of routine the past few days, Tommy coming back to Alfie's to work. Mainly to work. And, also, to listen to the neverending ramblings of Alfie, to occasionally pet the dog, to take the tea once the work was over. And sometimes just to fall in silence together. Only when they were together were they not strangers, estranged to everything and everything strange to them. Well, Tommy was feeling that way at least. He was pretty positive it was the case for Alfie too, but it was hard to guess anything, the man being all beard and glasses and not quite contained anger when he wasn't soliloquing with a cruel humour that sometimes made Tommy smile a bit.  
  
Anyway, none of them had ended the meetings even once the furnitures taken care of, and Tommy had continued coming over, delaying the moment he would have to go to the house of his late mother. He wasn't ready, that was all. Or maybe he didn't want to not have a reason to stay anymore.  
  
He had made some weird discoveries, though. Once, he was looking for some old paper Alfie couldn't find and, searching in the drawers of the desk, he had found a loaded gun. Not a military weapon, just a quite old, and quite illegal, revolver. He had put it back in its place, not his fucking business after all, wondering if Alfie had been that trustful about letting him into his house because there was a gun in every corner.  
  
Also, there were the books in regular printing that Alfie had made him sort and stack on the shelves by a pattern that made no sense to Tommy.  
  
He was sure the man was blind, though, his moves searching or careful, among other things. Two days before, Tommy had came to their daily, vaguely defined appointment to find Alfie with the bridge of his nose split and the shelves they had moved the day before collapsed on the floor. The latter had been angry about it, of course, hands curling in fists and barking after the slightest inconvenience for the whole day. Tommy had let that go for this time. He wasn't easily upset about other men shouting at him after his years in the army. Apparently Alfie was the kind of soldier to shout at people and not being shouted at, back then.  
  
It was a subject they hadn't really approached since Tommy's confession. Tommy didn't want to evoke it in details anyway. He was just satisfied with Alfie knowing what he had told him that time. Though even shared, the burden remained as heavy as ever, an amoral sword of Damocles hanging above his head like a low black cloud closing his horizon. But at least, there were not intrusive questions or displaced concern.  
  
Instead, there were quiet evenings spent on the terrace or in the kitchen when it was raining, and a brown ceramic mug that had apparently became his.

  


  


This very mug was soon filled with steaming hot tea when they came back, the sun declining slowly and coating everything in the room with ochre tones, shadows becoming longer in the natural light. Tommy briefly wondered how Alfie would react if he described it to him, and why he had never asked him to. He watched him put some sugar in his cup before sitting down across the table, and waited for him to finish being noisy with his spoon, focusing on the steam getting onto his glasses and his whiskers on the edge of the cup.  
  
« So I was right about your parents, then » Tommy ended up saying.  
  
Alfie's eyebrows went towards his hairline, where a patch of dead skin was hanging, Tommy's fingers itchy with the need to remove it and his mind dwelling on the fact that there was no one but him to tell Alfie the things he couldn't notice.  
  
« Since you immediately assumed it was the case, I would say it's me who is right about yours, thinking they are dead, and thinking it has maybe something to do with why you're here, because it does, right ? » Alfie tilted his head to the side, his tone suggesting no one would willingly come into this place without a serious reason such as this.  
  
Tommy looked at the dark ovals, unsure about if it was that obvious or if Alfie had learned it from Jenny or someone else somehow. He frowned slightly, but after all, there was no harm in Alfie knowing why he was here.  
  
« ... My mom lived and died in this town. Exchanged her caravane for a house, and her family for my current landlady.  
  
-So your father was a hat too ? » asked Alfie with interest, holding his cup of tea, rings clinking against the handle.  
  
« No, my father was an empty bottle with empty pockets, and a head full of ways to get himself in trouble» answered Tommy, not disturbed anymore by the weird formulations of Alfie, who was now gesturing towards him with his other hand.  
  
« Like yours ? »  
  
Tommy puffed through his nose.  
  
« Worse. My mom brought some balance to the mix.  
  
-As they always do, don't they ? »  
  
Tommy nodded quietly, some conversations with his aunt coming back into his mind. Then he looked back at Alfie. He couldn't picture him as a kid, as if men like him just sprung out of nowhere fully molded and shaped, eternal in their experiences and billowing coats.  
  
« ...What's with the hat ? » he said, breaking up the silence.  
  
Alfie stopped sipping his tea, grinning against the side of his cup before putting it away.  
  
« I wear my father's hat just like I wear my father's name, Tommy. I was practically born in this hat, you know. That's how it goes, how you go, from a warm safe place and directly into the wretchedness of the world of men, with a heavy wet plop and a not so gentle landing.  
  
-You think we are wretched ?  
  
-Do you ? »  
  
Tommy cocked one eyebrow, remembering the resolves he had taken after leaving, his own cup forgotten in his hands.  
  
« I'm not here to think about that. What is done is done and I have no use for moral judgement right now.  
  
-But it comes to you anyway, doesn't it ? Just like it comes to me, in the only place we can't escape from, which happens to be our mind. It takes many, many forms, yeah, some terrible reminder of what you are, shaped in imaginative ways by your traitorous brain. What is it for you, Tommy ? A white horse ?  
  
-...No. » He shook his head, mind lingering in the remains of his last nightmare against his will. « It's... noises, in the dark. »  
  
Alfie nodded, then, presenting his profile to Tommy, faced the window.  
  
« And it is always dark out there » he said.  
  
« You can't see at all ? » The question was risky but it was Alfie who had begun after all, thought Tommy. He had been the one who had dragged them both through the minefield in the first place.  
  
« Actually, I possess the very useful ability to perceive some variations in the luminosity with my right eye. As good as nothing, mate.  
  
-Yet you're keeping all those books.  
  
-Mmh. I do. » Alfie combed his beard with his hand, brow furrowed and mouth slightly open as if wondering about why he was doing that. Tommy watched him do as he slid his fingers through his own hair -making fall the dead skin at his hairline- and finishing to put it in complete disarray. Then he got up, busied himself with cleaning the teapot while Tommy sipped the rest of his tea in silence. Cyril had put his square, drooling head on Tommy's lap and it felt good, the weight of it and the gentleness in the dog's eyes. He scratched the top of his skull, wondering where Alfie had got him.  
  
Alfie was drying his hands on a clean rag, the evening sky purple and orange through the window behind him, slender clouds passing over a scarlet sun low on the horizon. He turned away the time to take off his glasses and swipe them with the rag and Tommy couldn't stop himself from throwing a quick glance in his direction. From where he was he could just make out the shape of his brow and cheekbone and he looked away before Alfie could feel the weight of his gaze.  
  
« I keep them because of sentimental value, mate. Even though I don't have any use for them or for sentimentalism anymore. » He was still turning his back to Tommy, putting his glasses back upon his nose.  
  
« As you're keeping me ? » offered Tommy with narrowed eyes as Alfie turned back to face him. The last piece of furniture had been cleansed and removed several days ago after all.  
  
« I'm pretty sure I can find something for you to do here. Find in the box some DVD that tickles your fancy and put it on, alright ? »  
  
Tommy blinked, caught off guard. Was Alfie proposing him to spend the evening there ? Was it a friendly gesture or something else ? He wasn't even sure it was a possibility.  
  
« DVDs ? You didn't strike me as the law abiding type » he mocked, concealing his trouble and making it fade off as quickly as possible.  
  
« No ? And why not ?  
  
-... You have a gun in your drawer. » Tommy stared at Alfie, ready to notice any change of expression indicating a potential violent reaction. But Alfie seemed totally unphased. Maybe just a little bit annoyed, as when someone went through your things in your absence.  
  
«So you searched in my drawer.  
  
-Well, you didn't exactly forbid me to do so, Blue Beard. Even asked for it, if I recall. » Tommy refrained from adding anything else. Talking too much was for sore losers. And he didn't feel guilty about his discovery. If someone had to feel guilty in this situation it wasn't him, but Alfie, who was looking very thoughtful and unperturbed at the moment, arms crossed and leaning against the kitchen counter. He angled his head a certain way and Tommy was sure he was squinting behind his glasses.  
  
« And you came back. »  
  
Tommy did not nod this time. He had managed to stop some of his reflexes, making the communication with Alfie a lot more effective and making himself feel way less absurd or concerned about how he looked sending visual indications to a blind man. Said blind man seemed to be very pleased with himself at the moment, and Tommy could almost hear the gears turning inside his head.  
  
« I'm sure you will be useful, Tommy. »

  


  


They ended up on the couch, sitting casually without touching each other, a recent black and white movie playing on the telly. The whole room had gone black with the night, and there were no lamps functioning. « You must save a lot of bill money » had said Tommy after testing them in vain. « You have no idea » Alfie had answered, already sitting on the couch with Cyril sprawled across his lap.  
  
Tommy looked sideways to the sleepy dog then to his friend, who was for once sitting straight, as if absorbed by the movie, his hands in the dog's short fur. He had fine hands, thought Tommy, tendons and veins on the back of them. He then looked at his own hands. He was quite disappointed Alfie couldn't watch him the way he watched Alfie. How he looked had always been one of his strong points when it came to seduction -and he couldn't form a subtle pickup line for his life, so icy blue eyes and sharp cheekbones definitely helped.  
  
This was a whole new situation for him. Given how recent Alfie's scars looked, it surely was new to him too, Tommy thought. Maybe a movie night was a big move. Or maybe he was just being friendly and polite with a fellow comrade. Though, he didn't look like the type to be polite for the sake of it. Perhaps he was just too lonely.  
  
He was settling for this explanation when he realized the movie wasn't in black and white during the flashbacks. This and the intricated story kept him from fidgeting or wanting to move, and stopped his wandering mind for a bit.  
  
Just as the main character was learning that his big brother was actually his father, Tommy closed his eyes and stayed that way until the credits rolled on. It was weird to only focus on the sound.  
  
« You had already seen it ? » he asked.  
  
« Yeah, a few years ago. It was passing at the local theater and some cunts just kept talking and talking, so I had to threaten them and they had the fucking audacity to look at me as if I was the strange one, can you actually believe that ? I'll tell you Tommy, London's theaters are the tenth circle of Hell. »  
  
Tommy felt his smile slide off his face.  
  
« We've already been there. We came back.  
  
-Shut up, mate, none of us did.  
  
-Just not entirely. But we did survive, and that counts. »  
  
Alfie was turned in his direction on the other side of the couch, and his hands had stopped their regular moves on Cyril's neck. Tommy leaned against the back of the couch, repeating once again to convince them both :  
  
« That counts. »

  


  


A cup of tea later they were on Alfie's doorstep, Tommy adjusting the collar of his jacket against the blistering cold. The days were slowly getting warmer, but the nights remained wet and freezing.  
  
As he did so, Tommy threw a glance at Alfie who was leaning against the doorframe. Behind him was a hatstand on which he could see a white scarf with black horizontal stripes, and Alfie's hat, motionless and innocent-looking.  
  
« So... You're technically Alfie Solomons Junior » said Tommy.  
  
« Alfred actually.  
  
-Can I call you Junior then ?  
  
-Fuck off. »  
  
They let out a laugh, little puffs of steam quickly vanishing in the air, before they parted ways and Tommy went back to Jenny's, walking amongst the dark blue and grey shapes of trees and buildings, sharply defined by the moonlight. 

  


  


Tommy went back to his room, moving silently in the hall and in the red carpeted stairs, thick fabric muffling the sound of his steps. He had no will to draw any kind of attention, or to talk with anyone and to shatter the quiet lingerings of the evening he had spent. He sneaked swiftly into his own room, then closed the door.  
  
It was dark, and the thick curtains were obscuring the moonlight, the wardrobe turned into a vaguely threatening shape in one corner. Tommy stood motionless for a few long heartbeats, frozen in his tracks.  
  
He startled when he heard a thud on the floor above him, surely caused by another tenant, and crawled into his bed with his clothes and shoes on, the sheets cold and his clothes dirty and his hands empty tightened into fists and it was dark and he was prostrated and his breath quiet because if they heard him they would kill them and his lungs were tight and his sweat was cold and blood on the sand and and and  
  
He woke up in terror, bloody crescents in his palms where his nails had dugged in, his shirt clad against his back by the sweat. He rolled off the bed, panic seizing him when the blanket held him back and didn't let him go and he kicked and he was on the floor, pressed against it and he stayed there until he acknowledged that he had for only company the loud beating of his heart in his chest and the pumping of blood in his ears.  
  
An ugly sound escaped him in a dry sob that shook him whole as he curled up on himself, throwing a glance at the room. First, his bag, the box. Avoid the wardrobe. Deal with the curtains. Window.

  


He pulled the curtains, letting the white light of the moon into his room, every object jumping back to its previous appearance, and everything was blue, black and silver, not a sandy brown. The cold air of the night dried his skin as he opened the window, careful not to drop his joint as he leant towards the outside, both hands on the window sill and shoulders hunched in exhaustion. He looked outside, to the sleepy rooves and quiet streets, some yellow squares of lights on the few houses where nighthawks were lurking. Tommy's gaze wandered in the direction of the edge of town. Of course there was no light at Alfie's.

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my native language so please let me know if there is any mistake !


End file.
